Page 62 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

The morning after Mackenzie Gallo thoroughly demolished my self-control in my office, Seattle decides to demonstrate its mastery of meteorological mood-setting by delivering a mix of snow and freezing rain that turns the city into a treacherous snow globe.

Perfect weather for questioning every decision I've made in the past twenty-four hours.

"TechCrunch wants a statement," Emma announces, dropping the morning briefing on my desk. It's barely 7 AM, but crisis management waits for no CEO. "They're running a feature on anonymous industry watchdogs, specifically focusing on @MizzByteMyAlgos's impact on corporate culture reform."

I scan the email, very aware that my office still smells faintly of Mac’s…everything. "Who's writing it?"

“Amelia Zegen.” Emma's expression suggests this should mean something to me. "She's known for unmasking anonymous industry critics. Last year she exposed that hedge fund manager who was secretly rating corporate holiday parties."

Well, this just keeps getting better and better.

"There's more," Emma continues, though her tone suggests she'd rather be dealing with Keith's revolutionary choir. "Ms. Zegen has apparently traced several of the blogger's posts to IP addresses within Drake Enterprises."

My coffee cup freezes halfway to my mouth. "When did she?—"

"The day after the Winter Strategy Summit." Emma pulls up another email. "She's requesting an interview about our 'surprisingly rapid cultural transformation' and its timing relative to certain blog posts."

Through the glass walls (which Mac has thoroughly convinced me are ridiculous), I can see her office is still dark. Usually she's in by now, armed with coffee and commentary about whatever revolutionary manifesto Keith's written overnight.

"Sir?" Emma's voice pulls me back. "Should I schedule the interview?"

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes – Grayson:

GRAY:Heard TechCrunch is hunting your girlfriend's secret identity. Want me to have SecureMatch run some interference?

ME:Not my girlfriend. And no cyber warfare before 9 AM.

GRAY:You say that like I wouldn’t win a bet that you’re probably already covered in some love-bites

GRAY:Or would it be fuck-bites in this case…?

I adjust my collar reflexively, ignoring Emma's poorly hidden smirk.

“Fuck. Alright, look. Tell Ms. Zegen we'll consider her request," I say, aiming for CEO authority rather than 'man who spent last night making out with his corporate culture consultant like a teenager.' "And get Legal to review our IPtracking policies."

"Already done. Though you should know..." She hands me another report. "Several tech news sites are speculating about the blogger's connection to our recent changes. The timing of the Winter Strategy Summit posts particularly?—"

The office door opens, and Mac strides in, her silky curls pulled back into another severe bun, brown eyes innocent.

Like she hasn't been avoiding my texts since last night. She's wearing a charcoal suit that definitely doesn't make me think about pressing her against my office door.

"We have a problem," she announces, then stops short at Emma's presence. "Oh. I didn't?—"

"I was just leaving." Emma gathers her tablet, pausing at the door. "Though you might want to..." she wiggles her fingertips at her own neck.

Mac's hand flies to her collar, and I definitely don't smile at the blush that colors her cheeks.

Once we're alone, the air grows warm, the office practically choking on the sexual tension that’s eating up all the oxygen.

"So," she breaks first, "TechCrunch."

"You've seen the email."

"I have a Google alert for their tech culture coverage." She paces, all controlled energy and barely hidden anxiety. "Amelia Zegen is dangerous."

"More dangerous than champagne-chucking employees?”

That gets a small smile. "Different kind of dangerous. She doesn't just expose anonymous bloggers – she ruins them. Last year's holiday party critic? Lost his job, his reputation, everything."

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